


The start of everything

by CanadianSnow (ShelbyCelina)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Boys In Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Non vampire Baz, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShelbyCelina/pseuds/CanadianSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t for them to be together. They were enemies, two sides of a line long ago drawn. If you asked Simon he would say it was inevitable. It was the type of day for accidents and mistakes.  If you asked Baz, he would tell you it was a misunderstanding. It was the product of a very intense day.</p><p>It was only one silly mistake. And yet, it seemed to be clouding everything. It was a silly mistake that Simon hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. It was one that Baz wanted to repeat until his legs gave out, and his throat closed, and his mouth turned dry. </p><p>It was a mistake that started everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks in advance to anyone reading :).

The first time it happened it was an accident. A mistake.

If you asked Simon he would say it was inevitable. It was the type of day for accidents and mistakes. The type of day where a moment of weakness, or two, was bound to happen.

It was a day filled with cruel words and leaking magic. Neither had been in control.

 _“Hit him!”_ Someone shouted.

_“His throat, go for his throat!”_

The memory left a metal taste in Simon’s mouth, a heavy feeling on his chest. He had used his magic violently, sending sparks directly into Baz’s dashing flame.

It was an idiotic choice.

They nearly blew up the entire school.

\---

If you asked Baz, he would tell you it was a misunderstanding. An indiscretion that meant nothing. It was the product of a _very_ intense day.

The type of intensity that left Baz gasping for breath as he threw another flame from his hand. Simon’s magic was endless, relentless— spark, after spark flying from his skin. He didn’t even look tired. Baz could feel his own body protesting as he called for more magic, as he demanded more. Baz wanted to give up as Simon repelled his flames and countered his curses, because no matter what he did, it was never enough.

He couldn’t give up though. It wasn’t a choice he was _allowed_ to make. Instead, he had to grit his teeth and watch Simon with a stone cold expression as one of his flames _finally_ connected.

Simon moaned and leaned forward. His skin was singed, the burning scent of flesh filling the air.

“Kill him, Basil. His right, he’s weak on his right side.” Baz’s Aunt yelled over the sound of his fire. He shook his head. He already knew Simon favoured his left. He had known since they were eleven.

He knew _almost_ everything there was to know about Simon Snow.  The single exclusion was how Simon felt about him. He could never tell. Baz was never quite sure if when Simon grinned at him he was feeling the same quickening of his pulse and deepening of breath Baz felt every second around him. He had no idea how to tell if Simon Snow was in love with him...the flames probably weren’t helping his cause.

He watched Simon carefully. He knew the distinct look of concentration he would get on his face when he was about to send a bolt of lightning charging at him. He waited until the exact moment the yellow line of electricity released from Simon, and then he freed a wave of fire he had been building between his palms.

Simon’s electric current flew angrily into his flames. There was an explosion, and screaming, and then they were both staring at each other—raw, on the brink of collapse, their skin charred, their faces dirty.

Simon nodded and dropped his wand.

Baz nodded.

They were done for the day.

\---

Simon was sitting on his bed, freshly showered, glaring at the burnt flesh on his left arm. He touched it and winced. He would need Penny to cast a healing spell. He was rubbish at them.

Baz was watching him, his own hair still damp. He cleared his throat. Simon looked at him blankly.

He was tired of this. Of being burned, of being asked to hurt someone he didn’t want to hurt. There were many things Simon wanted to do to Baz Pitch, but not a single one involved hurting him. He never let himself think about those things though. He didn’t think it was something he was allowed to think about, or to want.

He softened his features and tried to smile.

He was so tired.

He thought perhaps today would be the day he finally quit. The day he finally gave in. The day he finally allowed himself to think about what he wanted.

\---

The harshness from Simon’s face was gone. This was the Simon he knew, the one he felt more comfortable around.  “I can help,” Baz offered. He was well versed in the art of burn recovery.

Simon shrugged and tucked his feet under him. He met Baz’s eye again and then held out his arm in a truce. Baz nodded and grabbed his wand and the kit with burn supplies he kept under his bed. When you had something has temperamental as fire running through you it was always best to be prepared.

\---

They were silent, except for the occasional hiss or deep intake of air from Simon as Baz wrapped his left arm carefully.

“All right?” He asked quietly when he was done. He refused to look Simon in the eye as he asked. He knew it would give too much away.

“Yeah. You?” Simon replied softly.

“Fine.”

They were both ready to forget the day. Another day where they had been asked to fight someone else’s war.

Simon hesitated, licking his lips before he exhaled and looked Baz in the eye. “Sorry ‘bout today, I didn’t want to,” he mumbled quickly.

Baz shrugged, keeping his gaze steady. “Yeah. Same.”

Simon blushed a deep pink-gold colour.

“What?” Baz asked, because he always knew when Simon had something more he wanted to say.

Simon shook his head. “It’s just. I don’t like… I mean… my magic. I hate when it’s like that. I wish you didn’t always see it like… _that_. I wish you could see it when it’s not ugly.”

Baz didn’t know how to tell him that he never thought of his magic as ugly. Even when it was hurtling towards him and causing all the nerves in his body to shake with the anticipated shock, even then he never saw Simon, or his capabilities, as anything besides nightmarishly beautiful.

 “I like it more like this,” Simon whispered. He let his magic charge his skin until a faint yellow glow spread across him. Baz could feel the heat of it. It was drawing him in, the pulsating energy begging to be touched. “Go on, you can touch it when it’s like this.” He offered his hand.

Baz narrowed his eyes.  He was apprehensive, cautious around Simon, especially when he said things like _that,_ things that made Baz wonder if he could read his mind.  He snorted, not entirely ineloquently. “How thick do you think I am?”

Simon smiled awkwardly. “Trust me.” He extend his hand further, so he was almost touching Baz’s chest. “It won’t hurt. _I promise_. It feels pretty wicked actually.”

Baz sighed, cursing himself for being so weak-willed in the presence of Simon. He reached out to meet Simon’s tawny hand. He had several prominent freckles scattered across his fingers. Baz liked them. He picked the biggest freckle he could see, on the outside of Simon’s index finger, and gently touched his fingers to it. Simon was right. His magic felt… _wicked_.

Simon grinned, and then he was leaning forward, his pink lips slightly parted as Baz’s heart started to hammer in his chest.

Was he about to—

Their bodies collided strangely, with more force than Baz was anticipating. Simon jerked his head up as Baz was dropping his down. His chin clipped Simon’s tooth.

“Ah—fuck, that’s not what I — _fuck_.” Simon cursed, and it took all of Baz’s self-restraint to not laugh.

Simon tried again, this time moving himself slowly, his body gently finding space in the curves of Baz's limbs. Baz closed his eyes and let Simon’s electric magic run through him. He could feel it in every place Simon was putting his hands.

“Is this… I mean…Baz?”

Baz opened one eye, Simon was looking at him nervously, his face flushed. Baz smirked. He wanted to call for his own magic as a response. He wanted to let his fire lick gently across Simon’s body. It would be an obvious enough answer to his unspoken question. Baz pushed his magic to the surface of his skin, but then he drew it back almost immediately. He was exhausted, his magic fizzing uncomfortably where it normally roared.

He groaned, embarrassed.

Simon exhaled and then he touched Baz’s cheek. He didn’t say a word, but Baz could tell he understood.

Baz loved him infinitely in that moment for not making him admit he was the weaker one. 

\---

Simon called his magic back, until it was just him touching Baz, not his magic. It was only his smooth hands trailing along the sharpness of Baz’s features, his electrical current was at bay, stirring up something deep within his stomach instead.

He could see the purple shadows under Baz’s eyes. He exhaled, and then let his lips gently press against Baz’s skin. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing. It felt right though. It felt like something he had always wanted to do. Actually, it was _definitely_ something he had always wanted to do. If he allowed himself to think about it, a million things he wanted with Baz, or liked about him, came to mind. The list formed easily and quickly, each new thought causing his heart to beat a little faster, his breathing to hitch a little more.

He indulged. He kissed and trailed his fingers along the features that made up Baz. The features he thought were beautiful—the type of beauty that didn’t seem fair. How could one person possibly be made up of so many lovely parts?

He kissed under his eyes, his cheek, his ear, and the spot where his hair touched his collarbone. He kissed his nose, his forehead, and pulled Baz’s hand up to his mouth to kiss his fingers— he kissed each callus, letting his tongue drag over the roughest parts. Simon liked how it felt. He liked Baz’s hands exactly as they were— rough and strong— formed from years of burning flames wrapping through his fingers.

\---

Baz still felt a charge across his fingers, and his hair, and his throat, and every place Simon placed his lips. He didn’t need magic at all.

Simon let out a long exhale before he kissed Baz properly. The way Baz had always wanted him to. He tried his best not to give into everything. He couldn’t let him know how much he wanted this.

Simon tasted like smoke— like something burnt. But, there was also the faintest undertone of something sweet. He wondered if _he_ tasted like smoke. If the fire of his magic tasted at all like the electrical current of Simon’s.

He wondered if maybe they matched.

\---

When Baz woke up, he hissed through his teeth. He didn’t think it was possible to be this tired. He felt burnt, from the inside out. And he knew it was directly related to the crown of curls— with a golden glint hiding among the usual bronze tones— splayed across his chest. Simon was a stunning, exhausting sight to wake up to. Made worse by the morning sun playing tricks with Simon’s beauty; it was amplifying it in a way that was grossly unfair.

Baz held onto the warmth of the body pressed against him for a moment longer, he inhaled the sweet notes of Simon’s skin one last time, and then he woke him up with a flick to his face.

Simon opened his eyes reluctantly, blurry and swollen with sleep. He blinked at Baz, and then he smiled — big and wide — the edge of a white tooth sticking to his chapped lips. He was disheveled, and Baz could smell the sleep on his breath. He knew he was fucked, that no amount of magic could ever undo what he was feeling, because Simon was intoxicating, pulling him in even first thing in the morning, without a spell. He didn’t need one. Baz already liked his epically unruly hair, and terrible morning breath, and sleep blurred eyes. Crowley, he fucking loved everything about Simon in the morning.

It made what he had to do so much harder.

They had to talk.

They couldn’t repeat what they had done. Baz had to draw a clear line, for both of them.  

They were both delirious when it happened, their magic draining any sense from their actions. It was inevitable, Baz told Simon. But _clearly_ a mistake.

Simon looked like he was on the verge of tears, or possibly on the verge of pummeling Baz. (He had a hard time telling the difference sometimes.) He couldn’t stand the feeling that sunk into his heart as he watched Simon untangle himself from his limbs.

Baz tried to reach for him, but Simon shoved his hands away, tripping as he tried to get out of bed.

“It’s okay. It’s not like it was bad. It’s not the end of the world,” Baz murmured inanely to Simon’s back as he got dressed.

Simon eyed him carefully, and then cackled, a vicious and dark sound. “Fuck you,” he hissed. He left the room before Baz could explain himself further.

\---

At the end of the day Simon knew it was a mistake. The rational part of his brain _knew._ But it still hurt to hear Baz say it so casually, like it had meant nothing to him, like _he_ meant nothing to him.

\---

Baz had lied. Both boys knew it _would_ be the end of the world if anyone found out.

It wasn’t for them to be together. They were enemies, two sides of a line long ago drawn. A line neither really cared about, nor understood. (How could one side swear they were vehemently right, the other wrong, when the same thing was being said about their own side).

It was all about power, and Simon felt he had enough of that coursing through him without throwing politics into the mix. Whenever a meeting was called, Simon could only see a room filled with arrogant magicians who had stopped listening to sense.

He didn’t want that to be his life, his future. All Simon wanted was a life where no one knew his name. Where no one had heard of his prophecy. A life where he could be left in peace to do terribly boring things like grow tomatoes. And maybe, if he was lucky (although he never counted himself as such), a life with someone who loved him.

Baz, despite his last name, couldn’t bring himself to care a single fuck about anything magicians were fighting over—old ways, new ways, money, power, it didn’t fucking matter. Truthfully, all he wanted in life was Simon Snow, and maybe a cat. The rest was unnecessary drivel.

He didn’t care if that meant he had to settle for living in a shack in the middle of an ocean where he couldn’t even rub enough fire together to light a candle.

He just wanted to be happy.

The entire conflict was ridiculous, and stupid. But, it existed nonetheless, and Simon and Baz each had people depending on them to defend their respected sides at all costs.

Simon had the Mage, and his grand plans, and the prophecy that bore down on his shoulders in a crushing weight.

Baz had his family, his mother’s legacy to protect, and the unbearable pressure to live up to the expectations of a ghost.

\---

They could hardly look at each other.

The small space between their beds seemed caverns wide. It was filled with accusations, and doubt, and worry.

_Was it a mistake?_

_Was it wrong?_

_Did he not want this?_

And then the space got smaller. The air drawn tight between them as Simon started to say something, and Baz finished his thought.

“Do you regret—?”

“No. Of course not. No.”

Simon’s shoulders dropped their stiffness, and Baz felt his stomach unclench.

“We can keep it a secret,” Simon offered thoughtfully, like this would somehow fix whatever had been destroyed earlier.  

They both sighed in relief. And then they laughed, the tension weakening, and the desire building between them.

“We still can’t repeat it though,” Baz clarified, “it was a _onetime_ thing. A _silly_ mistake.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

They were both terrible liars.

\---

The second time it happened it was another intense day. Another bad mood settling between them on their beds. They had each been asked to take part in another duel.

Simon was angry.

It was only one silly mistake. And yet, it seemed to be clouding everything. It was a silly mistake that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. Had Baz always been so fucking attractive? Had he always been able to make his heart beat like it was going to shatter? Yes. Of course.

Simon almost told the Mage he wouldn’t fight anymore. But, he already knew what he would say. He would tell him he was _designed_ to fight. It was his _prophecy_. He was _chosen_.

The words grated against his insides horribly. He didn’t want to be designed, or prophesized, or chosen, not for this.

He didn’t want to be part of this game anymore.

\---

Baz was irritated.

His father and aunt didn’t understand why he all of a sudden was having reservations. They didn’t believe his lie that fighting was getting in the way of his studies. They thought he was more than capable of excelling at both.

Truthfully, it was Simon. All of his reservations stemmed back to the boy with disastrous bronze curls, and hands softer and smoother than he would have imagined.

He couldn’t throw a curse at him _now_. Now that he knew Simon liked a certain spot in the curve of his neck kissed. Or that he growled when he was aroused. How could Baz possibly try and kill someone who had days earlier trembled under him when he whispered into his ear.

That first time _was_ a silly mistake. But, it was one that Baz wanted to repeat until his legs gave out, and his throat closed, and his mouth turned dry. Had he always loved Simon so much? Yes. Of course.

They looked at each other.

Simon was burning.

Baz was caving.

They were reaching for each other, Simon already half-way onto Baz’s lap, and Baz already shifting to let Simon’s legs wrap around him.

\---

A second time.

No big deal.

They were young, and boys, and it was okay. Understandable. Expected even. An indiscretion here and there was encouraged after all. Wasn’t that the point of living? Besides, they weren’t going to tell anyone.

No one had to know.

Simon’s mouth was too eager. Baz’s mouth was all too happy to oblige. They couldn’t match their rhythms, but it didn’t matter. Baz was already licking the side of Simon’s face, and Simon laughed. It felt good. It was weird, and wet, and not like anything he had experienced. But, he liked it.

He liked Baz.

Like this.

With them together, their bodies pressed into an impossibly small space. He liked feeling Baz’s heart beating next to his own. He liked the contrast in their skin. Golds and reds. He liked the texture of Baz’s hair, how there was a slight wave to it that bothered Baz endlessly. He liked that it bothered him. He liked that his hands were rough with fire, and that they left small scratches on his skin. He liked that Baz had sharp teeth—teeth that he dragged delicately over Simon’s neck.

He liked him.

A lot.

\----

Another bad day.

A third time.

\----

Another fight.

Simon stared down Baz, like he always had. But, it was different. He was picturing his silky black hair between his fingers. He was hearing the exact sound Baz made when he pressed his tongue into the dip of his hip. He was imagining a fourth time, with their legs tangled and their stomachs pressing into each other.

He was imagining a million things _but_ the blue flames barreling towards him.

Someone yelled at him to pay attention. It was too late. The fire hit him, and his lungs constricted, his eyes shutting tightly. He gasped, and heard Baz swearing over the roar of the flames.

He was fine. He had been burned before. He caught Baz’s eye, another flame already gathering in his hand. Baz glared at him, and mouthed something he couldn’t make out.

He passed out before the second wave of flames hit him.

\----

Simon woke up in his bed to someone calling him an idiot. It was Baz leaning over him, his hair brushing against his forehead.

“You were supposed to fight back,” Baz whispered, his voice hoarse, his face strained like he was trying not to cry.  

Simon shrugged, and Baz kissed him. Fiercely, roughly, like he was trying to force the fight back into him.

Simon rose to the challenge.

A fourth time.

\---

By the tenth time it was as natural as breathing. As familiar as blinking.

But, better.

So much better.

Their mouths aligned. Their teeth rarely smashed together. Baz could draw a moan out of Simon with a single movement of his fingers. He would drag his hands down Simon’s spine on repeat. It never failed to give the result he wanted.

He liked that Simon was sensitive, that he never hesitated to let curses and sounds fly from his lips. He liked that Simon, who so often struggled with words, managed to say wondrously soft things when they brought the sheets over their heads together. He liked that Simon’s hair turned a darker bronze with sweat, his curls plastered endearingly to his forehead. He liked that his blue eyes never left his face, swirling endlessly into the deep greys of his own gaze. He liked that Simon had more moles than he knew what to do with.

He liked him.

A lot.

Which was a problem. Baz was slipping into madness trying to find a solution for them— _anything_ where they wouldn’t have to fight each other. He couldn’t do it again. It nearly killed him last time. He had hurt Simon, and it was tearing at his insides— the guilt and shame washing over him every time he looked at the patch of burned flesh on Simon’s neck that hadn’t quite healed right this time. Baz had been the stronger one in the worst possible way. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

His thoughts always circled back to the same thing. There was only one plausible scenario where Simon could come out unscathed.

He had to give him up, and then he had to leave Watford.

\----

The eleventh time was another accident, and occurred almost immediately after the tenth.

“We should stop,” Baz said as Simon palmed circles into his skin with his hands.

He was tired, and scared to death that he would be forced to kill the only person he had ever loved. The only person he was convinced he was capable of loving.

It was easier this way. Stop now, and disappear before the wanting became too much. Before they were each left with scars too deep to heal.

If they didn’t stop, Baz was worried Simon’s life would be the cost he had to pay for happiness. He could see it happening. The brief moment he would get where he would think everything was going to be all right. And then it would be gone, and Simon would be dead.

Simon couldn’t die.

Baz needed him to live. The world needed him to live. He was filled with life. Everything about him burned with it— everything he touched danced, and breathed, and hummed. Baz couldn’t rid the world of someone like that.

Above all else, Baz decided, Simon Snow just had to be alive. Even if it meant he couldn’t have him.

It would be enough.

It had to be.

\---

“Okay.” Simon agreed, not taking his hands away from Baz. He didn’t want to stop. He was tired too. But, for the first time in his life it was a tiredness he wanted. One that he chose. A tiredness that made him smile stupidly, and made his muscles shake with anticipation every time he got a glimpse of raven hair.

They looked at each other. Baz smirked. “It was fun though, yeah?”

Simon blushed, shrugging casually as he chewed his lip between his teeth. “It was all right, I suppose,” he said flatly. If Baz wanted to end things, he wasn’t going to give him _any_ satisfaction.

“That won’t do,” Baz tsked, a wicked grin spreading across his lips.

Simon lifted his head and stared Baz down— he wouldn’t have been surprised if his brilliant mind was already plotting something nefarious.

“ _What_ won’t do?” He growled.

Baz raised a dark eyebrow. “I think we can do better than all right, Snow. Don’t you? We can’t leave off on such an _underwhelming_ note.”

“No,” Simon said heavily, his breathing already strained, “suppose we can’t.”

“After all,” Baz whispered, his hands trailing their way down Simon’s torso. “You’re the Chosen One, and I’m the Pitch heir. We can do a hell of a lot better than all right.”

“Well… I can.” Simon grinned mischievously.

Baz laughed, and then he pinned Simon under his weight, his magic burning at his fingertips as they made contact with every inch of Simon’s exposed skin.

Simon grunted, his own magic swelling against him as he wrapped his arms around Baz and pulled him closer.

They used magic together for the first time.

It was a thing.

You were only supposed to do it if you were serious.

If it was love.

\---


	2. Part II

Twelve times.

Thirteen.

They couldn’t stop using magic.

Penelope noticed, she noticed everything. She kept asking Simon why his nerves seemed frayed. He was giving off static charges everywhere he went.

“If I didn’t know any better I would say you were shagging yourself raw,” Penny told him, while throwing up a shield against _another_ one of his rogue shocks.

Her own magic was made of deep purples, and electric blues—a curious mixture of psychic magic. It was more than reading minds. Penny could curse, and hex, and cause nightmares with a simple flick of her wrist.

She could also throw a shadow ball, a dark orb of blue light that was impossible to dodge. It lured people— gracefully floating towards an opponent until they were transfixed. They got caught up in watching, in enjoying the unexplainable feeling of ease that washed over them from seeing something so magnificent.

It was beautiful magic, until it consumed its targets— leaving them gasping for air, and clawing at their faces, trying hopelessly to untwist their minds from the darkness tangling in it.

Simon had only seen her cast it once, and it was something he never wanted to see again. Penny was terrifyingly powerful.

“Don’t make me read your mind,” she teased.

Simon laughed. “I’d fry you before you got the chance.” He made an exaggerated display of charging his fingers and waggling his eyebrows as he lifted his hand to her, twisting his wrist in a showy way that was _very_ Baz-like.

Penny rolled her eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

Simon probably could. The electrical magic that ran through him was unusually powerful. There were rumours about why, usually involving his mother. The most prominent version being that she was something else, not just a magician, but a Myriad—she was all types of magic combined. Simon thought it was all rubbish. He hadn’t inherited _anything_ from _anyone_.

Besides, even if he was curious, which he wasn’t, it wasn’t exactly like he could ask her. He didn’t even know who she was beyond the whispering of half-truths. He had lived in group and foster homes his entire life, an anomaly among magicians. The only plausible explanation he could ever draw for why was that his mother was dead.

He figured the less he knew the better. It hurt less this way.

\---

Fourteen times.

Fifteen.

Simon was in a terrible mood. He had been _summoned_. Like he wasn’t even a real person, just a puppet, or a dog, or a one-trick pony.

“I don’t want to go,” Simon whined into Baz’s throat, his tongue poking at a muscle aggressively. He knew he was being annoying. He liked to irritate Baz. He thought he was dreadfully adorable when he frowned.

“Shut up,” Baz hissed at him, snapping the waistband of his pants.

Simon grinned as he kissed down the length of Baz’s body, pushing his nose into the inside of his thigh before biting him.

Baz hissed again.

Simon huffed out hot air, his magic jerking the muscles in Baz’s legs involuntarily.

“Snow,” Baz warned.

Simon growled and sat back on his heels. His magic was pulsating in the space between them. He couldn’t control it when he was angry.

\---

Baz sighed, irritably. He was always irritated when Simon was in a bad mood. His magic was a fucking pest when he was like this. He felt another jolt in his legs. He was going to end up kicking Simon in the head if he kept this up.

He reached out and grabbed Simon’s arm, pulling him down so their chests were touching. He worked his fingers into his curls, massaging his head the way he knew he liked, and then he kissed his temple.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just go, make the Mage happy, and then come back here and I’ll make _you_ happy.”

Simon smiled. Baz considered it a victory when he felt his magic pull back slightly. He was getting good at calming him down. Simon hummed out an exhale and then pressed his lips gently to Baz’s jaw.

“How happy?”

“ _Very_.”

Simon let out a small growl and then sat up reaching for his shirt. “Why do you always do this?”

“What?” Baz asked, propping himself up on his elbows and stealing Simon’s shirt from between his fingers. He wasn’t ready for him to get dressed yet.

Simon rolled his eyes and snatched his shirt back. “You know, get me all worked up when I have places to be.” It was another growl, and Baz grinned, infinitely pleased with himself.

“Ah yes, I always forget how terribly busy your schedule is, boy wonder.”

Simon hummed out another exhale. “Tosser,” he muttered under his breath as he attempted to get off the bed. Baz caught him around his waist and pulled him back down.

Simon laughed, and wiggled against him. “Seriously, I need to go.”

“Be careful,” Baz whispered into his neck, tightening his arms around him. He meant it. He hated thinking of Simon walking into a room filled with people who would love nothing more than to see him dead. It made his blood run cold.

Simon turned in his arms and rubbed his nose against him. “Always am.” He buried his face into Baz’s chest. “I love you,” he said softly.

Baz’s heart tightened, and then expanded, leaving him inhaling deeply. “What?” He stuttered out ineloquently. It was the last thing he was expecting to hear. He was counting himself lucky he was getting to sleep with Simon Snow. This, this was something else—this was a fantasy Baz had never allowed himself to indulge in.

Simon looked up at him this time. “It doesn’t have to be a thing. Just—I love you, and I thought you should know,” he repeated, a determination in his eyes that Baz adored. _Simon_ was something else entirely. He was the indescribable feeling Baz used to get when talking about his magic. Simon was better than magic.

Baz kissed him, deeply, his fingers brushing against the moles on his tawny hips, before hooking their way into his pants. He _definitely_ wasn’t letting him get dressed now.

“I’ll be late,” Simon grunted.

Baz shook his head. “I don’t care. Tell them you were too busy with someone who loves you, who _has_ loved you since you showed up in a ratty old t-shirt and jeans that wouldn’t stay up. Crowley, _I fucking love you_ , Snow. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to tell you that?”

They both smiled stupidly.

Sixteen times.

\----

Simon hated the Mage’s meetings—everyone always shouted over each other about power, and money, and blood. The bloodlust in the room was palpable. It made Simon’s throat itch. He always felt uncomfortable, and bizarre, sitting in a room filled with magicians ready to kill.

This meeting was especially grim.

The Mage was nodding as someone called for a re-match to Simon and Baz’s last fight. Everyone thought it was a brilliant idea.

“Yes. Yes. Simon? How are you feeling? Recovered?” The Mage asked.

Suddenly, Simon could feel too many eyes on him. Too many questions and accusations ready to be thrown. He knew about the whispers that he was weakening, that he had lost his touch.

Simon shook his head. “I…I… um, still very tired, Sir. Not sure I could muster much.”

A man beside him snorted. Simon clenched his jaw. He knew his magic was currently pouring out of him. He knew it was a flimsy lie.

“Okay, in a week we will set another duel. I’ll send word to the Grimm-Pitches.”

It was like Simon hadn’t spoken at all. He sunk in his seat and tried to contain his magic. He was convinced everyone had lost their fucking minds, that the world was going mad.

\----

Simon tried to slip from the room quickly and quietly, but the Mage cornered him, grasping onto his arm. Simon could feel the current from his magic grounding him in place. He never liked being around other electrical magicians. Something about it made his skin hum hotly and his magic swirl like the start of a storm inside him. It was unsettling to say the least.   

“Don’t let him poison you, Simon.” The Mage said gravely, his watery blue eyes focusing on Simon’s face.

“Who, Sir?” Simon asked, playing dumb.

The Mage stared at him, a flicker of what Simon guessed was disappointment crossed between his eyes. “I only _allow_ you to be roommates because we need the information, and because I trust you to be strong enough.”

Simon’s jaw clenched again, and his fists balled. He hated how the Mage talked about Baz like he was poison, like he was death himself. He hated that he refused to even refer to Baz by name. He wanted to argue. He wanted to defend Baz. He wanted to go off, and have his magic explode fiercely around him.

Instead, Baz’s voice rang through his head. _Don’t be stupid, Snow. Think about what you’re about to say. Think about the consequences._

Simon exhaled and ripped his arm away.

“I have to study, Sir.”

The Mage frowned. “I’m not wrong, am I? You _are_ strong enough?”

Simon fixed his gaze on the man who was, for lack of a better descriptor, his mentor. The man who had told him at eleven years old that he was the most powerful magician their world would ever know. The man who had given him a home. The man, who technically, had given him Baz.

“Yeah. I’m strong enough,” Simon said, an iron resolve settling in his stomach.

\---

Simon barged into their room, slamming the door shut behind him. He was pissed. He let out a massive scream as he kicked at the wall.

Baz opened the door to their shared bathroom, a toothbrush hanging in his mouth. He stood in the doorway, calmly, as Simon stared him down, another scream ready to tumble out, his foot aching to connect to another wall.

 “Snow—”

“They want us to fight again,” Simon gritted out, tears spilling over his eyes. His throat was dry, and rough.

He wouldn’t do it. Not this time. Not now.

Baz snorted, letting his toothbrush drop from his mouth. “Are you really surprised?”

Simon glared. Baz kept his voice even. “You knew going into this we couldn’t roll around like happy boyfriends. You knew we would have to fight again.”

“I’m not fighting—”

“Maybe don’t use that bolt thing. I fucking hate that. Otherwise, it won’t be so bad.”

Simon was panting, his face flushed. He looked wild. “Baz,” he spat, “are you listening to me?”

Baz lifted an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Simon growled. “Then stop with the utter crap. I’m not fucking fighting you.”  

Baz shrugged, perfecting his gaze of indifference. “We have to.”

“ _What is wrong with you,”_ Simon sobbed.

\---

Baz flinched. He didn’t mean to sound like such an arse. His default in a crisis was to be annoyingly composed, and more than a bit pessimistic. Truthfully, he was panicking, his magic sloshing grossly inside him. He had estimated more time to work out a solution for them. He thought he would have weeks before they called another duel.

 “Nothing,” Baz answered, more gently. “I just don’t see how we can avoid it _this_ time. It will be like last time, but you can throw first, and then I’ll pass out or something.”

“Did you lie earlier? When you said you loved me?”

Baz frowned. “How did you jump to that epically stupid conclusion?”

Simon pulled at his curls. “What am I supposed to think when you’re standing there, perfectly calm, holding an honest to fucking Merlin toothbrush, like the idea of fighting me doesn’t even give you pause! Like this is casual pre-bed conversation.”

Baz flinched again. “Of course it gives me pause, Simon. A _massive_ pause. But, I’m trying to be rational. I’m trying to work something out for us, and I can’t do that if I’m in a thundering rage." He gave Simon a pointed look. "You make stupid choices when you’re like this. We need to work out something better than whatever rash idea is currently swirling in that thick skull of yours.”

Simon glared at him. “Like what? What counts as stupid? Going off? Because that’s what I want to do.”

Baz sighed, and disappeared into the bathroom, ignoring Simon’s blustering and scowl. When he came back out he took the five steps needed to reach Simon and pulled him into a hug. “Precisely. You’re a nightmare when you’re angry, Snow. Have I told you that?”

Simon growled.

“Are you mad?” Baz asked softly, brushing Simon’s damp curls from his eyes.

“Yes,” Simon huffed.

“At me?”

“ _Yes_! You’re letting them control us. You’re jus-t...just...a-ssuming f-f-ighting is the only way. I won’t fight you, Baz. I swear to you I w-w-on’t. I’ll let you kill me before I do.”

Simon was stuttering, stumbling through his words. He was getting too worked up, and Baz hated seeing the embarrassed flush that was creeping up his neck every time he tripped over a word.

Baz sighed, and held him tighter. “Don’t be an idiot," he whispered softly.

“I’m not!”

“All right, then don’t be careless with your life.”

Simon groaned, and smashed his face against Baz. “Then work with me. Let’s figure something out.”

“Simon, darling, I already suggested that before you started yelling at me,” Baz said lightly.

Simon looked up at him, his face relaxing slightly. “Did you?”

“Yes, my lovely, lovely idiot.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t—”

Baz didn’t let him finish. He kissed him, and tugged on his waist to pull him to the floor. Baz wanted a life where he could always have Simon like this, in his lap, his sweaty forehead pressed against him, and his exhales ragged and hot against his neck.

“We’ll be all right,” Baz whispered into Simon’s hair. “We’ll figure something out. Or I’ll just tell my family I can’t fight you because I’m madly in love with you.” He was half-joking. But, part of him wondered if perhaps the truth was the best solution. It wasn’t like his family would kill their only heir. Or, he hoped they wouldn’t.

Simon snorted, twisting his hands up to pull on Baz’s hair affectionately. “You can’t do that. They’ll disown you. You won’t get your inheritance.”

“You think I care about money?” Baz scoffed, more than a little offended.

Simon grinned. “Nah, but I do. And you promised to take care of me.”

Baz laughed. “Did I?”

“Yeah, just this afternoon you said you were going to turn us both into vampires so we could live together forever. You need money to live forever, _Basil_.”  

Baz laughed deeper. “How did you _ever_ get me to commit to forever with someone as maddening as you?”

\---

Simon shifted in Baz’s lap, and pressed his shoulders until his back was against the floor. He hovered over Baz, catching his eye. His heart fluttered. He loved his grey eyes—they were intense, piercing through his skin. He felt like Baz’s eyes were their own type of magic. Something ethereal. Something better than this place.  

“You say a lot of sappy shit when I do _this_ ,” Simon teased, his mouth finding the curve of Baz’s hip. He sunk his teeth down and grinned as Baz inhaled sharply.

\---

“We could always just run away,” Baz whispered against Simon’s shoulder after.

“Maybe,” Simon said, more reluctantly than Baz would have liked.

\---

Simon was terrified. For the first time in his life all he wanted to do was run. He just wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. Was he allowed to abandon everything for a boy with raven hair and grey eyes?

He closed his eyes and pulled Baz closer.

_Yes._

_Yes._

_Yes_.

It was the only word he could see, weaving its way into his dreams, and painting the space behind his eyelids.

 _Yes_.

\---

Twenty times.

Twenty-one.

Penny prodded Simon constantly. “Who is it? It’s getting worse, it _has_ to be someone—just look at my hair!” Her dark brown hair was frizzier than usual, standing on end every time she got too close to him.

Simon could only smile and shrug.

He had a secret. A glorious, wonderful secret.

He was utterly, stupidly in love.

His magic was breathing, living for the first time. Baz had transformed it into something he could manage. A tangible thing as real as the flames that would curl up Baz’s arm. Electricity was pouring out of him. They couldn’t stop. It felt so much better with magic. It was a connection that Simon felt deep in his chest, like it was being hallowed out, and Baz’s burning flames were settling in. It was magnificent. Breathtaking.

He had no idea how it worked. It was unknown, and unexplainable in so many ways. All Simon knew, or cared about, was that it never hurt. Baz’s blue flames could wrap around his thighs and he never felt anything but a deliriously enjoyable pull deep in his stomach.

When they were together now there was _always_ a blue flame and a yellow current crashing across them. Sometimes, if Baz was feeling particularly rowdy, the flame would turn red, and Simon’s current would spark a vibrant green in response.

It was strange. 

There was also a thing Simon could do with his current. A thing he did accidentally the first time, and then spent several days trying to repeat successfully. Baz was convinced it wasn’t bloody legal, although when Simon offered to stop, Baz insisted they not do anything rash.

It was a merging of his magic in Baz. There was no other way to describe it. Simon loved the exact moment he could feel his electric current wrapping its way into Baz’s veins. He loved the look on Baz’s face. The joy. The delight, as he closed his eyes and hummed out a moan. Simon knew it was an indescribable sensation. It was a burning fire licking up your insides as electricity pulsed its way from the inside out. 

No one else but Baz would have been able to handle it.

Interestingly, their magic shouldn’t have been compatible at all. Flames and electricity. It was dangerous. An unusual pairing. Usually, electrical magicians gravitated towards earth magic. Someone who could absorb and spread their energy so they weren’t always a chaotic mess to be around. And Fire magicians rarely strayed outside their own magic.

Their magic together was imprudent. One second of carelessness, or Simon giving too much, and they would both be done. Either emptied or dead. You didn’t get to keep your magic if you were careless. You were deemed unworthy, and then it was pulled from you.

Simon decided he wouldn’t care if that happened, not anymore. He used to worry about losing it, losing the one thing that defined him. But, he wouldn’t mind now. If Baz was there with him, he would give it up gladly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will be 4 chapters! Most of it is written, just re-working some of the next parts :)


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I thought this was going to be a nice little side story that would be complete within a week? Me either. Oops. I'd like to apologize for the dreadful delay haha. I still don't know if I'm happy with it, but it's better than what it was, and I don't want to hold onto it any longer :)

"I have an idea," Baz whispered to him the night before they were supposed to duel. Simon was already on the brink of sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around Baz.

"Mmm?"

"How do you feel about explosions?"

"Love 'em."

"Good, and smoke?"

Simon laughed. "You know I’m an electrical magician, right? Smoke and explosions are basically foreplay.”

Baz turned so he was facing Simon, and then licked his nose.  " _Noted_. And fireworks?”

“Fireworks?” Simon asked, while pretending to be disgusted as he wiped at his spit covered nose. “You’re so weird,” he added. 

Baz ignored his comment and licked the mole over his left eye instead.

“Agh—”

 “So, fireworks?”

“Fireworks?” Simon said again.

Baz rolled his eyes. “Crowley, don’t tell me you don’t know what fireworks are.”

Simon growled, shoving at Baz’s shoulder lightly. "I grew up in group homes, Baz. Not the bloody pound. I've seen fucking fireworks.”

Baz pushed at his face. "Yeah, yeah. And how’s your control with your current? Can you loop it?"

"It's not great," Simon admitted sheepishly.

"I can work with not great."

\---

They woke up the morning of their duel tangled together. It was poetic, really. (Or, Simon thought. He wasn’t clear on the definition). Especially considering today marked exactly two months since they had started whatever it was they were doing. (Simon wasn’t clear on that either.)

He _was_ clear on the anxious pit in his stomach, the one that was threatening him with the promise of violent vomiting. His curls were damp with sweat long before he lifted Baz off the bed, his fingers digging into his hips tightly.

“Stop thinking,” Baz whispered into his ear. It sent a chill down Simon’s spine, and made his head cloud. His thoughts were slowly slipping into the bewitching presence of Baz, which he was more than okay with. It was a _very_ welcomed distraction. Simon made a non-committal sound in his throat, and Baz traced his lips delicately over his in response. “This will work, trust me,” he said confidently.

Simon did trust him. He trusted him with everything he had.

“Stop talking,” he growled.

Baz laughed. “As you wish, Chosen One.”

Simon bit Baz’s neck hard enough to leave a mark in response.

\---

They stood facing each other across the Great Lawn. It was pathetic, how many people showed up to cheer on a pointless battle. They were two boys, being unfairly asked to use their magic viciously against the other—it should have drawn protest, not support.

Simon took a deep breath and then steadied his wand. They had to follow proper duel protocol. Neither side wanted to be accused of fighting dirty. Baz winked at him, his jacket collar pulled high to hide the incriminating mark Simon had left on him earlier. He drew his own wand.

Simon counted to three, and then he let his magic pour out of him. Exactly like Baz had told him. He was casting quietly, his electricity flowing out in a gentle ribbon. It was beautiful magic, a spell he seldom did. He could hear people murmuring all around him, it was obvious it wasn’t an attack.

\---

Baz let fire twist from his hands. He watched it, and guided it carefully to where Simon’s current was flowing in a pretty yellow circle. He muttered something, flicked his wrist, and then Simon’s magic burst with a deafening _pop_. It was loud, unnecessarily so, but if he was going to cause a scene he wanted it to be good.

Thousands of sparks rained down across the lawn. It was a simple trick, nothing more than amateur magic that normally would get a few gasps from a crowd. But, that was without Simon. With Simon it was terrifying, like a volcano spilling over.

The Mage stepped forward, and pulled out his own wand. He was too late, Baz was already casting the next step, and the Great Lawn was filling with thick grey smoke.

Baz smirked and started making his way towards Simon. It was easy for him. A straight shot. He kept his eyes open against the sting of the air and breathed out magic, strengthening his spell.

A few magicians tried to clear the smoke with their own spells, but nothing worked. Baz’s magic was resilient, unstoppable. He was shaking, but it didn’t matter. He was going to make this work, for Simon, and himself, for their happiness.

\---

Simon waited, he stood perfectly still, closing his eyes only when they started to water too much. He exhaled when he felt cool, rough fingers brush against his cheek. He didn’t need to open his eyes. He could recognize Baz from the feeling of his hands alone. He leaned forward and tilted his head up and felt Baz’s smile as their lips met for a single, lingering kiss.

“All right, love?” Baz asked, his voice breathless.

“Grand.” Simon grinned. “Magic holding okay?”

“Mmm,” Baz answered, grabbing Simon’s hand. Simon frowned. He could hear the exhaustion in his voice. He opened one eye carefully and saw the stoop to Baz’s stance. Baz hissed at him to close his eyes.

“I can help?” Simon offered, tightening his grip in Baz’s hand.

“No. We need your magic for part two of my plan. Remember? The one you called brilliant.”

Simon laughed. “ _You_ called it brilliant. I said it was seriously lacking. Seriously, what are we going to do tomorrow when—”

“Tomorrow is another day, darling, and another battle. What our plan lacks in depth today, we shall make up for in grandiose magic. Besides, we aren’t fighting right _now_ , are we?”

“ _No_.” Simon said petulantly, stumbling as Baz quickened his pace across the lawn.

“ _Exactly_. It's a brilliant plan.”

\---

Simon cast spell after spell against their door. Everything Baz could think of, and then some that were pure Simon, not even real spells. Neither responded to the shouts outside their room, or the constant phone calls, or the curses that tried to break through the barrier.

They laughed, slowly undressing each other. Simon couldn’t even remember how many times they had done this in the last two months. How many times he had slipped Baz’s leather jacket from his slim shoulders. How many times Baz had pulled his threadbare school jumper over his head.

Simon took extra care this time. He pressed his lips against his favourite places on Baz’s body—his back, his collarbone, the nape of his neck, the inside of his thighs, his calves. He wanted him to feel how much he loved him. He wanted to heal the spots where his magic had drained him.

It occurred to Simon that together they were invincible, their magic indestructible.

\----

This time, both Simon and Baz were _summoned_.

“Crowley, now I know how you feel, Snow.” Baz whispered to Simon as they walked towards the Mage’s office together. It was intimidating, an ominous feeling in the air.

Simon couldn’t talk. He could barely manage a tight lipped smile. Baz frowned. “Relax, love. They can’t do anything to us.” Simon shook his head. “They’ll try though, won’t they?” Baz didn’t want to lie. So, he shrugged, and grabbed Simon by the back of his neck. He kissed him, nipping on his lip playfully, and fighting the urge to pull him into the abandon corridor to their left.

Simon was blushing by the time Baz manged to convince himself to untangle his hands from his curls.

\---

When they entered the room Simon nearly followed Baz right to his seat. It was only at the last second when Baz quietly cleared his throat, and Simon caught Baz’s aunt glaring at him that he realized he wasn’t supposed to be on this side of the room. He swallowed. He forgot they were supposed to be _enemies_. Two sides of a line. It was easy for him to forget now.

He kept walking, the long way around, to the side of the room where the Mage was standing. He could feel the Mage watching him. He refused to look back.

When Simon finally took his seat the meeting was brought into session. “Obviously, this little stunt has been unacceptable,” the Mage started. Simon sat on his hands, and forced himself to keep his head up. His magic was trembling. He wasn’t sure he could do this.

“Agreed,” Baz’s father, Malcolm, chimed in. “I won’t have _your_ heir making a mockery of the tradition of duels.”

The Mage rounded on the Grimm-Pitches. “And what of your heir? Or did you forget that it was _his_ spell that caused the explosion in the first place!”

Baz sighed and crossed one long leg over the other. “I would hardly call that an explosion.” He caught Simon’s gaze and winked. Simon blustered, and then tried to add his own defense. “It was an accident, a, uhh, mistake.”

Malcolm laughed. “Basil doesn’t make mistakes.” 

Baz smirked. “I certainly don’t. _Snow_ made the mistake.”

Simon was confused. They should have talked about this more. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to agree, or if he was supposed to cause a scene. He looked to Baz for help, but his face was holding nothing but a blank stare. It only confused him more.

The Mage cut in. “Accident, mistake, or otherwise, it was dangerous—”

“Will the Chosen One be given a time out for his tantrum?” Baz interrupted, his hand gesturing in boredom towards Simon.

Simon blinked, and then tried to catch Baz’s eye again. He needed to understand. He needed to read him, to figure out his own role in this act. It was an act, he reminded himself. (An act Baz was disturbingly good at.)

“Mr. Pitch, I don’t think it is necessary for you to—”

“Because I really think he should be given a time out. A break, if you will. I mean, as a chosen heir, he really needs to start trying a bit more, wouldn’t you say? It’s all rather embarrassing, and a bit immature, how he’s been carrying on.”

His voice was condescending, and Simon felt the hot pricks of anger wash over him. It was the voice he _used_ to use. The one that made Simon feel inadequate. The one from before  — before Baz had told him he loved him, and had kissed him stupid more times than he could count.

Simon growled at Baz, muttering something rather ostentatious even by his standards. Someone behind him gasped, and Simon rolled his eyes. His rage was threatening to spill into the room now, and he couldn't quite bring himself to exercise the control Baz had been helping him with. Let the room burn, he thought wickedly. 

“ _Language_ ,” the Mage sighed heavily.

Baz smirked. “Haven’t you heard the great Simon Snow speak before? This is all you get. Grunts and profanity. Isn’t he _eloquent_? Aren’t you _amazed_? If I were you, I would consider a replacement. Ship Snow off to Canada and move on to the next great thing.”

Simon could feel the tears behind his eyes now. He inhaled and exhaled, trying to find the softness in Baz’s expression. He couldn’t. His gaze was cold. It was like before. Simon _hated_ how Baz used to look at him.

The Mage banged his hand against the desk before him and quieted the room. “I can assure you, Simon is very capable as a magician. Now, let’s get back to the matter at hand. Namely, _what_ happened?”

Baz crossed and uncrossed his legs again, he pulled out a cigarette and started a flame in his hand. “May I smoke in here?” He asked. He didn't wait for permission before he took a long drag. Simon hated how fucking cool it made him look. “Thanks,” Baz said to no one in particular. “Now, as for why the Chosen One had a tantrum, I don’t know.”

The Mage sighed, impatiently. “That’s not what I asked.”

Simon could feel the room looking at him, waiting for his response. He shrugged, and caught Baz’s eye. It was then he saw it — the _softness_ — the crinkling of grey eyes he had grown accustomed to over their weeks together. For the slightest of moments Baz’s mouth twitched in the corners and the sharp angles to his jaw rounded.

Simon exhaled in relief.

“I second Snow’s shrug." Baz said. "It’s all a blur. Perhaps we were bewitched? I can’t remember a damn thing beyond Snow’s little eruption. But, whatever happened, I have the weirdest feeling that Snow was made to _thoroughly_ suffer.”

The room went silent, except for the sound of Baz taking a drag of his cigarette. It was an odd, and slightly cheeky confession. No one knew what to do with it, which Simon figured was _exactly_ what Baz intended. He was brilliant. Already ten steps ahead of Simon in whatever game he was playing with the room.

The Mage looked at Simon intently, like he was trying to communicate a secret message. “Any details you would like to fill in from Mr. Pitch’s _disturbingly_ vague story?” He asked.

Baz smirked, clearly pleased with himself.

Simon didn’t hear the Mage. He was too busy replaying the details of Baz making him suffer last night. He was thinking about his mouth, hovering barely an inch above his lower abdomen. He was thinking about how it felt when his cold exhales dipped into his skin, only to be replaced by Baz’s burning magic, the blue flame licking at the spot Baz was refusing to touch. And then he did. He dragged his tongue, with more pressure than Simon had anticipated, across a spot deep below Simon’s hip bones. He thought his body was going to collapse from the feeling.

It _was_ suffering as far as Simon was concerned.

“Simon?” The Mage asked again, it came out slightly strained, like he was trying to hold back his impatience.

“What?” Simon stuttered out.

Baz was _grinning_ now.

The Mage cleared his through aggressively and gave Simon a pointed look. He was warning him not to be an embarrassment. He was waiting for his heir to contribute. _Former_ heir, Simon corrected in his head. He grinned impishly.

"I don't think he has anything to offer." Baz said, leaning back in his chair with another long drag on his cigarette, watching Simon like he was sick in love. (Which, he was.)

Baz was right. Simon couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and he didn't even fucking care. Besides, he was already too far gone in his own mind, picturing exactly how _he_ was going to make _Baz_ suffer when they returned to their room. It was a much more enjoyable way to spend the rest of the meeting.

\----

It was Daphne, Baz’s step-mother, who managed to get everyone to calm down. She was the only voice of reason in the chaos.

“Great snakes, they’re eighteen!” she reprimanded.

The Mage tried to argue. “Yes, but—”

Daphne shook her head, her neat ponytail swishing fiercely, and held up a hand. “ _No_. Basil is a very bright young student. He has _very_ big aspirations for university, universities that require top marks. He needs to focus on his future. I’m sure Simon would enjoy that too.” She smiled kindly at Simon, and he felt himself flush with an unfamiliar feeling at the attention. He dipped his head as Daphne straightened, fixing her pale blue blazer, and continued. “I think it’s only fair we let them finish this year without any more trivial duels. I won’t let you ruin Basil’s chances of getting into a top school. They both need time to heal, to be normal. Can’t you see they are exhausted?”

No one could disagree. Both Simon and Baz had purple and blue shadows smudged deeply under their eyes, and Simon’s grades were approaching abysmal this term. Everyone grumbled a reluctant agreement. “Good. So we are decided then,” Daphne stated assertively. She didn't leave any room for contention.

The Mage sighed, waving his wand to write the decree into the minutes. “Very well, as long as there are no more displays of adolescent defiance I think a small break could be managed. No more duels until the new term begins.”

\---

They didn’t talk on the way back to their room. It wasn’t until the door was securely shut and locked that Baz rounded on Simon and pulled him into his arms. He was subdued, placing delicate touches on Simon’s skin as he breathed him in. He smelled like he always did. Smokey. Sweet. A little sweaty. Baz inhaled deeper and then kissed him gently.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he worked his hands gingerly under Simon’s jumper. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Your face… I thought you _hated_ me again.”

“I did, “Simon answered honestly. “Only for a moment though. You’re ruthless when you need to be, Baz.”

Baz dropped his head into the crook of Simon’s neck and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

\----

Simon wasn’t angry. Not really. Or at least, not anymore. He knew why Baz had acted like a prick. The rational part of his brain knew and understood that Baz was protecting their relationship. He just hated how easy it was for Baz to slip back into his old self. How fluidly the transition had gone.

 “I worry—” Simon started.

“You have nothing to worry about. I love you. I didn’t mean a single thing I said.”

 “Baz—”

“ _Simon._ ” He said fervidly, taking both of Simon's hands. “I was serious before. Let’s run away. Leave after this term. We could start again somewhere. _Together_.”

Simon looked up at Baz, his eyes wide, and he couldn’t think of a single reason why they shouldn’t leave. He thought they deserved happiness. He thought they deserved the chance to explore the endless possibilities presented to them from a single word— _together._

_together.together.together.together.together._

It was the loveliest promise Simon had ever heard.

\---

Baz pressed his hips into Simon, who was panting in front of him.

“You were gone for _so_ long.” Simon whined. Baz laughed, circling his hips slowly. Simon’s breath hitched when Baz pressed tightly against him again. “ _Too_ long,” Simon added.

Baz grinned. “I was gone for half the day, Snow. _And_ I was running an errand I think you will be most pleased with.”

“Too long.” Simon repeated, shaking his head, and working his fingers into the belt Baz always insisted on wearing. “This fucking belt,” he cursed, as it got stuck on a loop of Baz’s trousers. Simon tugged and growled as it hit the floor with a loud clatter.

Baz grinned. “I like to make you work for it.”

Simon snorted. “How many more days?”

“Twenty.”

“I’m banning belts from our new life.”

“I could get on board with that.” Baz smiled, and kissed Simon, making quick work of his grey school trousers. He took a step away and marveled at the sight of Simon Snow in nothing but his pants. He was unfairly attractive. Baz titled his head and gave him a soft look. “Should we pause?"

Simon made a face of utter loathing. " _Absolutely_ not. Are you trying to torture me?"

Baz grinned. He loved when Simon was like this. Riled up, growling, staring him down like he was about to devour him whole. "But... don't you want to hear what my errand was?” Baz drawled, lifting his eyebrow lazily.

Simon shook his head like he was at his limit. “ _Shut up_ , Basil.”

"As you wish, Chosen One."

Baz grinned, catching Simon as he took them both to the ground in a flurry of desperate hands, hectic kisses, and Simon's nipping teeth along his neck. (He never let Baz get away with calling him the Chosen One.)

\---

They carried out their term together at Watford like nothing had changed. They didn’t talk outside their room. As far as everyone else was concerned they were still enemies. Still two heirs on either side of a line.

But, they had a secret together. Baz’s errand had turned out to be _very_ pleasing. He had rented them a flat in the heart of London.

Simon kept his set of keys in his pocket at all times. He liked the sound they made when he walked. He liked the reminder.

He felt a new freedom. A new sense of hope. He could see the finish line, and all it was promising. He could see his happily ever after.

\---

It wasn’t just bad days and accidents anymore. Every time was deliberate, and filled with the assurance of their new life.

It was good days, and better days, and euphorically happy days. It was silly days, and impatient days. Days where neither wanted to get out of bed. Days where they both had too much. Too much magic, too much power, too much desire. Days where Simon felt like the world was going to explode. Days where Baz wanted to be the one to light the match.

And then it was every day.

And Baz laughed, because it was his wildest dream—an _insatiable_ Simon Snow— giving his own appetites competition for top contender.

It was Simon’s bed. And then Baz’s. It was pushed against the bathroom wall. It was the middle of the night. The morning. The middle of the day. Once, it was in the stairwell leading to their tower because neither felt like waiting.

They gave into every whim. Every feeling. Every urge.

Baz was happy.

Simon was happy.

It was everything.

\---


	4. Another beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! :)

It was official. Their first date occurred the same day they moved to London. It was their first public appearance and Simon was giddy, holding onto Baz’s arm as they walked the crowded streets.

Baz took him to a restaurant where he couldn’t pronounce a single thing on the menu. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind. He let Baz order for him. He let Baz show him his world.

Simon leaned across the table, and Baz nearly choked on his water as Simon’s sleeve dipped dangerously close to a candle. “ _Snow_ , careful. Crowley, I can’t take you anywhere.”

Simon shrugged. “Fire doesn’t bother me.” He gave Baz a suggestive look, and then grinned wickedly as Baz blushed.

“That’s different,” Baz hissed. “I control that. I wouldn’t let it hurt you.”

Simon shrugged again and leaned further forward, taking care to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He could feel Baz’s disapproval. He knew he wasn’t supposed to roll the sleeves. Baz had told him once. Something about the material creasing. But, he couldn’t be bothered to care. He was too busy reaching for Baz's hand.

\---

Simon grinned stupidly and listened to every word his _boyfriend_ had to say. He felt like everything Baz said was important. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

They spent all of dinner like that. Simon leaning, Baz talking, holding hands, not letting go even when their food arrived. Simon wasn’t sure if it bothered Baz how much he wanted to hold hands. He wasn’t letting on if it did. In fact, the only indication Baz was giving that he was even aware of Simon’s hand was the gentle pattern he was tracing across his knuckles. He carried on through dinner like trying to eat with intertwined fingers wasn't at all difficult. It made Simon's heart thrum fiercely.

After dinner, Simon declared dramatically that he would _not_ be returning to the restaurant. Whatever he ate (he was too afraid to ask) was properly disgusting. Although, he did make sure to clarify he enjoyed the company immensely. Baz told him he was unrefined, and a sap, and that he loved him.

Simon grinned, dragging Baz to a bakery for part two of their date. Baz tried to protest— it didn't make sense to have two food related activities on their date — but Simon was hearing none of it. They found a small table, and Simon took charge. _This —_the soft lighting, the strong aromas of butter and sugar, mixed with fainter notes of coffee and fruit, the warmth, the easiness, people in jeans and sneakers —this was his element, this was his world.

He ordered. He made Baz eat every single thing he put in front of him. He didn’t care if Baz said he was full. Simon was set on making him eat each carefully selected scone—lavender and peach, blackberry and mint, lemon and rosemary, and Simon’s favourite; sour cherry. It was an experience, Simon reminded him. He owed it to him after whatever they had eaten at dinner. (He still wasn’t convinced it was correctly cooked.)

Baz sighed, but conceded, pulling the plate of scones towards him. He asked for jam and clotted cream and Simon nearly smacked him. He refused. He loaded each of Baz’s scones with butter, and told him it was the only way. He _had_ to eat them exactly like that.

\---

Baz ate every last fucking scone Simon pushed at him. He hated butter. Something Simon refused to accept. “How could anyone hate butter?” He argued. It was a paper thin argument, based on the fact that _he_ liked butter. Baz could have torn it down in seconds. Fire wasn’t his only skill. He excelled at words, and logic, and arguments. Most times he could shred through someone with with a single word.

Not Simon though (not anymore at least.) Not his _boyfriend_ , who was looking at him expectantly with his unremarkable blue eyes. Eyes that _Baz_ found rather remarkable for the sole reason they were part of Simon. He knew most people likely wouldn’t care for Simon’s moles, or his unruly hair, or the lopsided twist in his grin. He knew Simon’s eyes were nothing special, an ordinary blue that most people would be troubled to remember properly. But, Baz thought he was the luckiest person in the entire world. He thought Simon was _absolutely_ stunning, at all times, even when he had crumbs across his lips, and soup stains on his shirt.   

Which was why he was willing to eat four oversized scones, with disturbing amounts of butter, even though they had just eaten a three course meal, and butter really did make him want to gag.

Baz loved him.

So much.

He ate every single crumb on his plate, and felt nothing but happy as Simon grinned at him like he had just saved the world. 

He thought the scones were properly disgusting. Otherwise, the evening was a thoroughly educational experience.

\---

That night was the fiftieth time. Not that either of them could remember anymore. To them, it was their first. They had shown the world they were in love.

This time, they were slower. It was official. It wasn’t the same neediness. It wasn’t fueled by years of want, or the thought that this could be the last time. The urgency was gone. It was lazy, and soft, their magic curling around each other delicately, like it was trying to protect the other. It was more wonderful than either had anticipated.

It wasn’t crashing. It was floating.

Baz tried to cover every inch of Simon’s skin in kisses, and Simon tried to see how close he could press his chest to Baz’s. They both wanted more, and it wasn’t a surprise when they felt more— _a magical bond—_ a twisting of flames and an electric current. Their bond was a vibrating yellow and blue line that twirled around them. They didn’t cast a single spell. They didn't need to. They simply manifested their thoughts into something tangible. They were weaving the patterns of their lives together, they were colliding their fates. It was their love and magic committing. It was their hearts remapping to fit into each other. They wished and they received, without hesitation, without strings.

That night, for the first time, Simon felt the true spark of flames inside him, and Baz felt the smoky burning of electricity. They were both silent with wonder. It was so different from their own magic. Baz’s magic felt like a purge. A cleanse with flames. Simon’s magic was the opposite. It was a burning that scorched your insides and lingered.

Simon laughed manically as blue and yellow flames curled around his fingertips. He wondered how long before his fingers would scratch roughly with the reminder that he was a fire magician. He wondered how long before he matched Baz in an entirely new way.

Baz grinned, bigger than he ever had before, as he closed his eyes and felt his skin hum. He was alive. He was made of electricity. _This_ , he thought, _this_ is what it feels like to be overflowing with life. It was like having the world at his fingertips. It was like having a universe exploding inside him. It was _exactly_ like being loved by Simon.

It was everything they had wanted.

\---

They sat with Penelope and told her first. Because she meant the most to Simon. Penelope prodded and asked exactly ten inappropriate questions before nodding and approving. She told Simon she was happy for him. She told Baz she would castrate him at the slightest temptation. “If he sheds a single tear of unhappiness because of you I swear to Merlin—”

Baz cut her off. “I’ll take care of it myself, Bunce. No need to worry.”

They shared a weird sardonic smile. It was weird. Simon was surrounded by weird relationships. But, they made him happy. Penny made him happy. Baz made him happy. He had two wonderfully weird people in his life that he loved an impossible amount. He loved them so much he wondered if they could feel it? Feel the warmth, and light, and good things that would overflow every time he thought of them.

He wonder how it was fair — how did he get it so good?

\----

Baz’s family was trickier. Or, more accurately, Baz’s father was trickier.

His siblings were easily converted, they adored Simon. Mordelia especially, which was perplexing to everyone. Mordelia couldn’t be bothered to hug her mother most days. “Mummy, I’m busy,” she would say seriously, and push her away. But, she would sprint to Simon and hug him without hesitation every time he visited. And then she would lead him by the hand and walk him through every important thing he missed since he last saw her.

 _"This is the drawing I did for Baz, but you can have it."_  
_"This is the new spell I learned."_  
_"This is the cookie I was eating before you arrived."_

She could go on for hours. Baz always had to pull Simon away, otherwise he was sure Mordelia would find a way to permanently spell him into the family pet. She was cunning, and clever, and more than a little mischievous. Of course, every time he rescued his boyfriend from his sister she pouted, and spent the rest of the evening listing all the things she liked better about Simon. If Baz weren't so smitten he might have been offended. As it were, he was bloody enthralled with his boyfriend. He couldn't muster much more than fake outrage as he silently agreed to all the things Mordelia rattled off.

Daphne was rather fond of Simon as well. Mostly, she was fond of seeing Basil so happy. She didn’t care if that meant he was dating the heir to the enemy. Although, Simon reassured her during their first _official_ tea that he relinquished the title.

“He’s just Simon Snow: boy wonder, now.” Baz teased casually, sitting next to Simon and across from his parents. It earned him a smack across the head. Baz grinned, pulling on Simon's chin to kiss him. (He had a talent for making things as awkward as possible for everyone.)

Malcolm nearly had a heart attack.

Daphne thought it was sweet.

Baz knew his father was still apprehensive. “Does it have to be him?” He asked seriously after tea. “If this is a late rebellion or something, just… anyone else, Basil.” Baz looked at him coolly. “What if someone had told you ‘anyone but Natasha Pitch,’ what would you have done?”

Malcolm sighed deeply. “I would have…” He stopped, he didn’t want to admit what he would have done.

Baz nodded. “Exactly. That’s your answer. It has to be _him_. Just like it had to be _her_.”

\---

Simon knew Malcolm was warming to him, or least the idea of him. He didn’t think Malcolm was ever going to _like_ him—Simon often caught him frowning, especially if he was being soft with Baz. He wasn’t sure if that part was related to his name, or his gender, or perhaps both. But, he _was_ trying.

Malcolm was never rude. He invited Simon to every family event. He even introduced him as Baz’s boyfriend at larger gatherings. It was progress. Which was good. Because Simon had grand plans for his life with Baz. And it was a _life_. Not a few months, or even a decade. Simon was planning for a lifetime.

\----

They had lived together a year when Baz suggested a long walk. Simon practically fainted when his boyfriend pulled him towards the front doors of an animal shelter.

“Really?” He asked, bouncing on his feet, eyes wide, his magic sparking joyfully up his arm.

\---

Baz was weak. He let Simon pick everything. The cat. The name— _Meredith._ "Get it, Baz?" Simon had grinned at him. Baz had stared blankly back. "Because she's grey!" He was thrilled with himself and Baz pretended his boyfriend hadn't just named their cat after a fictional character from a fucking medical drama. He even let Simon pick her pink collar with the most obnoxious gold bell. He _loathed_ the collar. But, every time he looked at the grey cat curled up on their bed he felt nothing but love. He loved the cat, even if it was clear she preferred Simon. He didn’t mind, he preferred Simon too.

“Meredith is on my side again,” he whispered to his boyfriend, kissing his temple gently. It amazed him how quickly Simon could fall asleep. He had been gone less than five minutes and already Simon was breathing heavily, his features softened in a way Baz adored.

“Mmmm, don’t move her. She doesn’t like that." Simon grumbled, pulling the blankets tighter around him.

Baz sighed. “I guess I’ll be on the couch then.”

Simon opened one eye and frowned. “ _Absolutely_ not.” His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions. It look like he had gone to bed years ago, not minutes.

“Snow, where am I going to sleep then? The floor? Because I’m not—”

Simon patted the space in front of him in a manner Baz thought was him _trying_ to be suggestive. Baz raised an eyebrow.

“I’m bigger than you. I won’t fit.”

Simon glared. “Taller, _not_ bigger. There’s a difference. Come here.” He patted the space again, this time opening the blanket. Baz was more than enticed by the visual of Simon’s bare chest and stomach.

He gave in, muttering to himself as he squished ungracefully into a space a child would hardly be able to manage.

Meredith grunted at him as the covers shifted. It was a sound he swore she picked up from Simon. Cat or not, it was a very _Simon-like_ reaction. She opened her eyes lazily at him before spreading out further on _his_ side of the bed. She was mocking him now, he was sure of it.

He glared at the cat, and at his boyfriend, who both seemed perfectly content with their current sleeping arrangement. Simon giggled and then wrapped his arms around Baz, burying his head into the space between Baz’s neck and the pillow. He kissed him once, softly. “I love you,” he whispered.

“The things I do for you.” Baz said irritably.

“You love me.”

“Sometimes you make it _very_ hard.”

“But, you do.” Simon whispered, his eyes already closed, and his words drawing out lazily, like he was trying to savour them.

“Of course I do.” Baz whispered back. "How could I not?"

Simon sighed happily, and nudged his nose into Baz's hair. Baz wasn’t comfortable, yet he still fell asleep with a slight smile spread on his lips as Simon’s warm exhales brushed his neck. He forgot he was supposed to be annoyed.

\---

Baz woke up with a crick in his neck, and his arm half asleep from Simon’s weight pressing down on it. They hadn’t moved all night, and Simon’s snores were vibrating in his ear. Still, he was glad he had spent the night tightly mushed into the space of his boyfriend’s torso, his warm body curled around him, his bronze curls brushing his face.

He was glad for Simon, full stop. He felt nothing but lucky.

\---

Baz was wide awake. He couldn't sleep. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps the storm. Perhaps the feeling that was running through him, whispering that _now_ was the moment. It was an ordinary Wednesday. Nothing special. Not an anniversary, or occasion. It was just a Wednesday, during the hours when you can never remember if you should be calling it the night or the morning.

He nudged Simon with his foot under the covers, but his boyfriend only growled and rolled away. Baz sighed, wrapping his arms around Simon and pulling him back towards him. He hated if there was space between them now. He had gotten used to Simon’s constant warmth.

It was hilarious that his skin was always cold considering he was made of flames. His father’s skin was always cold too. He came from two lines of fire magicians, and some days it felt like his magic was drawing the heat right out of him. He wondered if that's how it worked? If that's where his magic came from? But, with Simon, it was like having his own personal heater. He was constantly shoving his hands between his boyfriend’s thighs, or twisting his feet between his calves.

Simon growled again, and called him something unkind. He said it without an ounce of malice. Baz grinned and nudged his toe against his boyfriend’s leg. Another incoherent sound was produced. Baz pressed his lips gently to Simon's neck and brushed at his hair. “You’ll want to wake up for this,” he whispered, pressing a cold hand into the small of Simon’s back.

\---

Simon laughed, or tried to. It was a raspy sound, thick with sleep. His eyes reluctantly opened as he rolled to face Baz. It was dark, the sound of rain and thunder hammering outside. Simon wouldn’t have been able to guess at the time. It could have been midnight, or the early hours before dawn.

It wasn’t the first time one of them had woken the other for _this_. Simon had done the exact same thing two nights previous.

Baz pressed his forehead to Simon’s. His voice was soft, and quiet. He was whispering the loveliest words. Simon closed his eyes again, and felt Baz’s cold fingers work their way deftly into his spine. It was soothing. He could only focus on Baz’s voice. It had always been smooth. And now, it was wrapping around Simon like a warm blanket. His eyes were heavy, and he was drifting the line of asleep and awake. Until he caught the word _wedding_ , and then his eyes were wide open, and Baz was looking down at him unhurriedly.

“Huh?” Simon said, as Baz laughed and kissed his nose.

“I said, let’s get married, love. Nothing big. I promise. Just us. Bunce if you’d like.”

Simon’s heart hammered in his chest.

“You want to marry me?”

“Who else would I want to marry?”

“Are you asking?”

Baz rolled his eyes. “You clearly missed the proposal, _idiot_ ,” he sneered affectionately.

“Did I?” Simon asked sleepily. He let out a yawn. “Was it wicked?" He teased.

Baz hissed at him. “It would have swept you off your bloody feet, Snow.”  (Simon didn’t mind when Baz called him that anymore. He knew it was filled with love. Still, he preferred the way he drawled out his first name. He made it sound like something more than it was.)

“Are you still asking?” Simon whispered.

Baz pretended to contemplate, but then he gently nodded. “Yes. _Simon,_ will you marry me _?_ ”

Simon grinned. “Yes, _of course_."

\---

Baz didn’t say anything as he reached across the bed to the little side table Simon had snuck in from the streets. ”Someone was going to throw it out, and it’s perfectly lovely,” Simon had argued. Baz hated it. It was old, and the paint was peeling, and no matter how many times Simon promised he never got around to re-finishing it. He was also pretty sure it was the reason they had an ant problem last summer.

But, he had to admit, it was nice having a bedside table. And he didn’t feel guilty whenever they knocked it over, which happened frequently between them. Simon, because he claimed crashing into furniture helped him think. Baz, because he never could control himself around Simon. (They had lost two lamps to Baz’s long legs.)

Baz opened the drawer as Simon bounced to a sitting position. Baz could hear him chewing on his lip nervously. He grabbed the rings, which had been sitting in the drawer for weeks. He had been waiting a long time for this.

He slid a plain silver band onto Simon’s left hand. Then he cleared his throat and held out the other matching band.

\----

The rings were beautiful. Exactly what Simon would have picked for himself.

“Doesn’t this part happen later?” Simon asked, genuinely curious.

Baz shrugged. “We can do this however we like. Unless you don’t want _me_ to wear it?” He raised an eyebrow and Simon rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t say that, _git_.”

“That’s no way to speak to your future husband,” Baz said haughtily. Simon shook his head and rolled his eyes so aggressively Baz started to laugh.

Simon thought his future husband was as insufferable as ever. He was still a pretentious arse. And a bit of a drama queen. But, he was Simon’s. And Simon was his. When Simon thought about Baz his heart hurt, and his chest tightened. Every time, without fail, his body produced the same response.

He loved him. He loved his wit, and his words, and his teasing voice. He loved his constant support, and his soothing hands. He loved that no matter what he could rely on Baz—he was one of the only constants in his life. The one thing he never doubted. No matter the argument, or the bad memories that sometimes fought to win out against the good, he could talk to Baz about anything. Even about Baz himself. He could tell him when he was being insufferable.

Simon slid the silver band onto Baz’s left hand. They both pretended they weren't shaking, that this wasn't a promise they had been desperate to make since that very first moment, that they both hadn't been worried they wouldn't get this far, that something or someone would pull them back, would make them fight.

Baz still sometimes dreamed of Simon's lifeless body laid bare at his feet, his skin charred from Baz's own hands. 

Simon still sometimes dreamed of Baz's lips twisted in a snarl, his mouth cruel and unrepentant with whispers of Simon's flaws. And then he was dead, and Simon's rage had done it, the air charged and thick, smelling like smoke, heavy with his lack of control. He was the monster the Mage had wanted him to be.

Try as they might, nightmares still haunted them.

They intertwined their fingers, both rough from fire, squeezing tightly like they knew what the other was thinking. They had been sharing magic and making a future _together_ for years. They had long ago forgiven each other for all they had done when they still felt an allegiance to sides. Now it was only them, but sometimes they needed the reminder. The reminder that there were no sides (unless they were talking about a love of butter.) The reminder that their allegiance was to each other, and was theirs alone to decide, to give.

Simon loved Baz.

Plain and simple.

He had spent years exploring the possibilities of their future within the confines of his own mind. He grinned. This was his reality now. A lifetime of loving, adoring, and devoting.

It was more than he could have ever hoped for.

\---

Baz thought this time felt like the first time all over again. He loved that every milestone with Simon felt like another beginning. He loved that there wasn't an end with them. It was only more beginnings. He would never turn the page to see _The End_. It was more than he could have ever hoped for.

Simon kissed his neck as the storm picked up outside. A crack of lightening spilled in through the windows, lighting up Simon in front of him. He was washed in blues and yellows. He was breathtaking. "It's just like you." Baz whispered his hand reaching up to tangle in Simon's curls. And then he blushed. He still couldn't believe the shit Simon was able to get him to say most days.

Simon grinned. "Like _us._ " He corrected.

And he was right. They both charged their skin with the familiar thriving hum of electricity. They both felt the pulling in their stomachs, the burning of their insides as they moved together slowly. Baz whispered and flames sparked across their bodies. Simon exhaled and a yellow line traced it's way through their intertwined limbs.

\---

After, Simon couldn't help but cry.

He was so fucking happy. 

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispered to his fiancé, tears streaming down his face.

\---

They waited exactly twenty days. Long enough for Penny to return from America.

They stood facing one another, hands intertwined, an official before them, and their loved ones faded into the background. This was for them.

They grinned stupidly, and kissed each other sweetly, and then Baz slipped his tongue into Simon's mouth and the sweetness turned to something else as their magic unfolded around them. They pulled away from each other breathless, flushed, delirious. They both knew this wasn't even close to their last beginning together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I went full mushy happy ending!
> 
>  
> 
>  


End file.
